Disclaimer: What, do I look like Amy Sherman-Palladino to you? Okay, you can't see me, so I'll answer for you. No, I don't. I'm shorter, blonder, and don't have the propensity for funky hats. Thus, I don't look like her; ergo, I must not be her; hence, I don't own the show or the characters (just my little ol' story idea).
A/N: Wow! As of this writing, twenty-six reviews for the first chapter! That's a personal record! (Sure would be nice to break it—wink-wink, nudge-nudge)
Thanks to everyone for the nice reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Now, let's get this show on the road . . . so to speak.
Chapter 2: Takeoffs and Landings
"Ladies and gentlemen, we're beginning our descent into Norfolk International Airport. The captain has turned on the Fasten Seatbelts sign, and at this time we ask that you turn off and stow all portable electronic devices and make sure that your tray tables and seatbacks are in their upright position.
Unfortunately, it looks as if the poor weather has followed us down the coast. The temperature on the ground in Norfolk is 62 degrees, with steady drizzle.
On behalf of all of us on US Air Flight 5462, thank you for flying with us. We hope you have a pleasant stay in Norfolk, or wherever your travels take you."
Lorelai sighed and looked up from the latest Exclusive Photos of Juila's Twins!, venturing a glance at Luke in the seat next to her. His eyes were closed and his head lay back against his seat, and it was hard to tell if he was asleep or fighting off another wave of nausea. She considered nudging him to tell him they were about to land, but then thought better of it. If he was sleeping he could use a couple more minutes, and if he was going to be sick again, well. . .
Well, any trip that starts out crappy can only get better. Right?
At first, it had seemed as if the Travel Channel gods had been smiling on the whole Luke-and-Lorelai-get-away-together plan. With Rory's help, Lorelai found a house for rent in the village of Frisco (just cute enough, just rustic enough, and just "tourist-y" enough) at a ridiculously reduced rate. The people who were supposed to rent the house for the week had backed out at the last minute (but of course, just early enough to get their deposit back). The rental agent was so desperate to get someone in the property and get any money out of it that she'd even agreed to let Lorelai have the house for four days instead of the whole week.
Then, Lorelai had mentioned flying.
It only made sense to fly from Hartford to Norfolk and rent a car to drive the rest of the way to Hatteras, rather than driving all the way from Connecticut to North Carolina. After all, she'd said to Luke, they only had a few days for their trip, and they didn't want to waste them in the car. Luke had agreed, but he was just tense enough and just pale enough around the edges for Lorelai to poke and prod and pout until he told her what was wrong.
It wasn't that he was afraid to fly, he'd insisted. It was just that he'd never actually done it before. He'd always driven everywhere he needed to go, and since he rarely needed to go anywhere that was further than a four-hour car ride, it had never been a problem. But he would be fine. Flying was no big deal, people did it everyday, and even though the bureaucrats at the FAA were probably a bunch of complacent nimrods, he was sure that it was completely safe everything would be okay.
In retrospect, it probably hadn't helped that they'd ended up flying out on one of the wettest, gloomiest days they'd seen in months.
Or that their takeoff was delayed two hours due to bad weather.
Or that they'd sat on the tarmac for another forty-five minutes after that.
Whatever the reason—nerves, the weather, the cramped quarters, or the turkey salad sandwich he'd insisted on eating before they left the house—twelve minutes after take-off, Luke had turned the strangest shade of grey-green Lorelai had ever seen, grabbed the air-sickness bag from the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him, and vomited into it with the same quiet force he did most things. This performance was to be repeated several times over the next few hours, with Luke becoming more drained and more mortified with every new bag the flight attendant brought him. Lorelai had tried to make it better with little jokes and suggestions of ginger ale and crackers, but her concern only seemed to make him more irritable. Finally, when he'd snapped at her for the second time to leave him alone, she gave up and pretended to read the People magazine she'd bought in Hartford.
Now she glanced at him again and nudged him gently. "Hon, we're here."
Luke didn't even open his eyes. "I'm not deaf, Lorelai. I heard the announcement."
Well, alrighty, then.
Somehow, they made it off the plane without further incident. After a brief stop at the baggage carousel (at least the luggage hadn't gone missing—that had to be a good sign, right?), they made their way over to the rental car counter.
Luke, who had insisted on taking care of the flight and rental car arrangements, stepped up to the counter and pulled out his wallet.
"Yeah, I have a reservation. Luke Danes."
"Yes, sir." The rental clerk spent a minute pressing keys and clicking the mouse. "Is that Danes, spelled D-A-N-E-S?"
A heavy, growl-laced sigh. "It is in my family."
The clerk looked at the screen again, winced, and gave Luke the apologetic smile that he must have been trained to give customers when delivering annoying news. "I'm sorry, Mr. Danes. We show your reservation is for tomorrow, not for today. I'm afraid we don't have a vehicle available for you right now."
The look on Luke's face made Lorelai want to jump in front of the clerk and make like a human shield.
"What are you talking about? I made that reservation a week and a half ago, for Sunday the ninth. I even got one of those stupid e-mail confirmation things with the date on it, and now you're telling me I'll have to wait until tomorrow to rent a car?"
"I'm sorry, sir," the clerk replied with a barely perceptible shrug.
For Luke, that shrug was like waving a photo of Harvey Fierstein in front of James Dobson. Lorlelai practically had to physically restrain him from lunging at the poor guy.
"You're not sorry! You couldn't care less. You don't give a rat's ass about your customers, as long as you can stand in front of your little screen, press your little buttons, and make your eight dollars an hour."
"Luke, stop it." Lorelai tightened her grip on Luke's arm. "It's not his fault, it's just a computer error. It's okay."
"No, it's not okay! What are we supposed to do now, huh? Walk to Hatteras? Take a rickshaw?"
"I know, I know." She stroked his shoulder in an effort to soothe him. "Just calm down."
She turned to the clerk and saw that he was just a kid, probably working his way through community college. She leaned on the counter and gave him the same smile she used on the linen service guy when she wanted him to get the inn's towels back a day ahead of schedule.
"Hi, there . . ." she glanced down at his nametag " . . . Brad. So, Brad, we're in kind of a bind here. See, we're supposed to be on our first vacation together, and we really need a car to get to get to the beach so we can actually, you know, start the vacation." She upped the smile wattage. "Now, I'm sure I don't have to tell a handsome, vital guy such as yourself how important a romantic getaway is for a couple, am I right? I'm sure you've had your own fair share of romantic getaways." The blush rising in the clerk's cheeks showed that remark had its desired effect, and Lorelai continued the charm assault. "That's what I thought. Now, I just know that you can push a few buttons and get us in some wheels and on the road right now. It would really save our trip, and I'd be so grateful if you could help us out. Whaddya say?"
Brad, beaming and bashful, turned back to his computer screen and clicked his mouse a couple more times. "Well, actually," he began, swelling with pride that he could be of service to the really hot lady with the incredible blue eyes, "I just happen to have an Explorer available."
"Aw, Brad, you rock!" Lorelai smiled and leaned in a little closer. "Did anyone ever tell you you look like Matt Damon's hotter younger brother?" Actually, the kid looked more like Steve Buscemi's dorkier younger brother, but years of experience had taught Lorelai to always end on a high note.
Brad walked to the back to get the key, still blushing and beaming, and Lorelai turned to Luke with a triumphant smile—a smile that faded when she saw the look on Luke's face.
"Did you have to do that?"
"Do what?"
"Flirt with that guy just to get us a car—a car, I might add, that we were supposed to have in the first place."
"I wasn't flirting!"
"Are you kidding? You practically offered to jump over the counter and give him a lapdance."
"I was just using a little charm. Besides, it's better than threatening to tear his head off for something that probably wasn't even his fault."
"I didn't—You know what? Just forget it. Do whatever you want."
"Fine."
"Fine."
They both stood wordlessly glaring into the distance until Brad came back with the key, and the conversation didn't exactly perk up once they were on the road. Aside from asking her for a direction here and there, Luke drove in stony silence. By the time they crossed the Bonner Bridge, Lorelai was resigned to staring out the window, thinking how nice the scenery probably was. She couldn't wait to drive back through when it was daylight. And not raining.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when they finally reached the house. Luke wordlessly hauled their bags out of the Explorer, and Lorelai followed him up the stairs into a large, airy common room decorated in typical beachy shabby-chic. Two of the walls were lined with windows, and a patio door opened off one end of the room onto a large deck. Through the doors on the other side of the kitchen she could see a bedroom and bathroom, and more rooms lined the open landing upstairs.
"Wow," she said, momentarily forgetting the cold war they'd been waging since the Virginia state line. "This place is amazing. I think I want to marry it and have its seafoam-colored babies."
"It's too big," Luke groused, dousing Lorelai's hopes of a verbal détente. "It's wasteful. Who needs all this space just to come pollute the beach a few days a year?"
Lorelai turned away with a sigh, not wanting to incite another Luke Rant. Her glance fell on the a basket of wine, fruit, and gourmet cookies siting kitchen counter. "Hey, look! Apparently Janet was so happy we took the place she left us some thanks-for-renting-this-lovely-but-still-over-priced-property goodies. Silly Janet. Don't know you bribe the customers before you make the deal?"
She smiled at Luke and gave him the usually irresistible hair flip, determined to make one more try at salvaging their first night away together. "Hey, how about we open the wine and . . . you know . . .really get this vacation started."
Apparently, the analogy "Hair Flip is to Luke as Kryptonite is to Superman" had been rendered moot by three hours of air sickness and two hours of driving in the rain. "Nah," Luke grunted, unable to meet her eyes. "I think I'm just gonna get cleaned up and then go to bed. I'm beat."
"Oh." Lorelai fought back the tears that were stinging her eyes. "Okay. Why don't you take the downstairs bathroom. I'm gonna go upstairs and take a shower, and then I guess we'll . . ." Unsure how to finish the thought, she simply grabbed her suitcase and started up the stairs.
In a few minutes Lorelai was under the hot shower, unable to hold back the tears of fatigue and hurt and frustration any longer. All she'd wanted was to spend some time alone with Luke. She just wanted to be with him and hold him and absorb him and revel in the fact that after everything that had happened, after everything she'd done or almost done or not done, they were finally, really, truly together.
What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? Was he really getting this bent out of shape over a little air sickness? Or because the car reservation got screwed up? Okay, granted, Rick Steves probably wouldn't approve of how their trip had started off, but so what? Was that any reason for Luke to start his own off-Broadway version of The Incredible Plaid Hulk on Vay-cay?
But then, as she stood in the shower letting the hot water pound her corded neck muscles, she realized that Luke's mood had started long before they ever got to the airport. He'd been tense ever since they'd gotten the deal on the house. She remembered bouncing into the diner the day Janet had e-mailed the confirmation, thrilled about the house and the beach and the togetherness. Luke had seemed just as excited, but when she'd looked up from her celebratory cup of coffee she'd caught the oddest expression crossing his face. It was as if he was . . . nervous about something. In fact, she thought, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair (if only it were as easy to rinse Luke out of her hair!), he'd been weird for a couple of days before they left. He hadn't been sullen or irritable or anything, just . . . antsy. Like he was about to take a test or give a speech in front of a school assembly and he just wanted to get it over with. Watching him had reminded her of the way she felt the week before her ninth-grade play.
Lorelai stayed in the bathroom for over a half hour, cleansing and exfoliating and toning and moisturizing and brushing. Part of her hoped that Luke would already be asleep by the time she got finished so that she wouldn't have to deal with him any more that night.
Geez, she thought as she finally walked out of the bathroom. That's exactly what you want to be thinking on your first night away with your boyfriend.
As it turned out, Luke hadn't gone to bed.
By the time Lorelai came back downstairs, Luke had cleaned himself up, put the rest of the luggage away, and retrieved the bottle of wine from the gift basket. He was sitting on the couch when Lorelai came into the living room, and he looked up at her with a mixture of remorse and embarrassment.
"I'm a jerk," he said sheepishly.
Lorelai stood in the middle of the room, not quite sure how to respond to the apology or his change in mood. "It's okay," she finally said, coming to sit beside him.
"No, it's not okay. I was a complete ass, and I ruined our first day and I . . ." he lifted his hands helplessly. "It's just that I'm not good at this whole going-away-together thing. Not that I have a whole hell of a lot of experience doing it. But even when I have gone away with someone I've been . . . you know . . involved with, I've just sucked at it."
Lorelai sat quietly, deciding to just let him get it all out.
"I mean, Rachel and I took one weekend trip to Boston, which ended in disaster when she wanted to keep on going to New York, and I refused to because I had to get back to the diner. Could I help it that I had a business to run and couldn't go gallavanting all over the Northeast whenever I wanted? After that we never went away together again-which, I suppose, knowing her, was part of the problem. And, well, you know what a fiasco my last trip was."
"Yeah." Lorelai didn't really want to think about Luke on the Carnival Cruise of Ill-Advised Weddings at that moment."
"The thing is," he said, turning to face her and taking her hand in his, "this isn't just some trip with a girlfriend. This is different. This is important. You're important, and things have been going so good for us the past few months, and I just wanted so badly for this to be special. And then the flight got delayed, and then I got sick on the plane—which, by the way, is going on the list of my most humiliating moments ever, right behind the time I walked into the girls' restroom by mistake when I was in third grade—and then the car reservation got screwed up, and I just got madder and more disappointed every time something else happened instead of just blowing it off, and that just made it worse, and I took it all out on you, and I am just really sorry." Spent from his apology rant, he looked at her hesitantly, hoping she'd forgive him.
That look was all she needed. "Oh, babe," she sighed, crawling into his lap and burying her head in his neck. "It's okay, really. I don't care where we go or if it's perfect, I just want to be with you." She looked at him with a sly grin. "Of course, if you wanted to go somewhere like Fallujah, there would be a discussion. It would be a very short discussion, but there would be a discussion." To her relief, he chuckled and leaned his forehead against hers.
"We just had a rough start," she continued, kissing him softly. "You'll see, this trip is going to be amazing. We'll just consider today the crappy deleted scene, and tomorrow we'll get on with the Oscar-worthy, totally hot director's cut—complete with NC-17 material for the unrated version."
Luke grinned and tightened his arms around her, and she rested her head back on his shoulder. "I love you," he murmured into her hair.
Lorelai smiled against his flannel-covered chest. It wasn't something they'd said often since the first time they'd said it—the first time she'd said it, that night when she stood crying in the diner after weeks of avoiding him and needing him and being terrified he'd never let her back in. It wasn't that they didn't mean it, or that they were scared to say it. They just seemed to have this unspoken agreement (which seemed to be the way they did almost everything together) that saying it too often made it less special. They were such powerful words, and had been so hard for either of them to say to anyone before they finally found each other, that they didn't want to wear out the magic.
Besides, it's not like they didn't know it. It was there between them, every time he poured her coffee or she teased him about his flannel. It just was.
Still, sometimes it was nice to hear it. "I love you, too," she replied, running her fingers into his hair and pulling him down for a kiss. After a minute she slid off his lap and stood up, pulling him up with her.
"Now grab that wine and let's go christen us a beach house."
strummy-strummy-la-la
Up Next: Saying what hasn't been said.